


Sorry Souls

by fragments_and_pieces



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8552932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragments_and_pieces/pseuds/fragments_and_pieces
Summary: Gavin just can't do anything right, can he?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I dunno what this is or how long it'll be. Tags will be updated as we go, I guess. The title may also be changed.

“Go, go, go!”

 

They're out the door in an instant, guns blazing: Ryan first, followed closely by Michael, with Gavin bringing up the rear. Bullets whir past them. Gavin’s finger hovers over the detonator; once they made it to Jack’s car, he’d-

 

A blinding pain in his side suddenly makes him stumble, and with that he feels his finger press down the button. Gavin can barely get a warning out before the explosion rocks the street, sending all three of them tumbling to ground.

 

Gavin’s ears ring, his whole body throbbing as he lays sprawled on the ground. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks of Michael and Ryan, if they're okay, if he'd just  _ killed  _ them. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if they'd died because of his stupid mistake.

 

He suddenly feels himself being pulled up, but his ears are still ringing. Someone’s shaking him violently, and he can barely make out an angry face crowding his space. He can't  _ focus;  _ all he can think is that he's fucked up  _ again, god they're going to kill me, what if Michael and Ryan- _

 

All of his senses come back in a rush. Michael is gripping his shoulders tightly, shaking him and screaming. Gavin blinks at him, eyes wide. (At least he's alive.) “You  _ idiot!  _ What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

Gavin watches over Michael’s shoulder as Geoff and Jack jog over, helping Ryan onto unsteady feet. He and Michael look relatively unharmed, but clearly they're all pissed regardless. Jeremy, he knows, is watching the scene unfold through his scope on the roof of the building down the street.

 

Michael gives him another shake. “Hey, moron, I'm talking to you!” Gavin’s eyes snap to his. “What the fuck was that? You were supposed to wait until we were  _ away  _ from the building before blowing it up! You almost killed us!”

 

_ I know,  _ Gavin wants to say.  _ I know, and I'm sorry.  _ He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Michael's screaming again, and his words sting: “You fuck-up, why can't you do anything right?”

 

_ Fuck-up.  _ Because that's all Gavin is. A fuck-up. He ruins everything. “I…” he mumbles.

 

“You're what?” Michael's hold on his shoulders is bruising. Gavin’s never seen him this angry, especially not towards him. “Let me guess: you're  _ sorry?” _

 

“Michael-”

 

“Sorry isn't gonna cut it, Gavin. You fucked up.  _ Again.  _ You fuck everything up!”

 

Fights between them rarely get physical, and if it ever escalates that far it's broken up immediately. Gavin doesn't really expect Michael to  _ shove _ him, even if he deserves it. He stumbles back and falls on his ass.

 

“Michael,” he hears someone say, maybe Jack, but no one moves to stop him. He towers over Gavin, heaving with anger.

 

Gavin sits there, staring up at Michael, eyes blown wide. He thinks that Michael might  _ hit  _ him, finally, after everything. He finches, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his hands up in front of his face.

 

The hit never comes.

 

When he lowers his hands and cracks his eyes open, he's met with varying degrees of anger and disappointment. Gavin’s chest is suddenly tight and he can't breathe, and he just needs to get out-

 

He scrambles to his feet and away from Michael, from all of them, and turns on his heel and runs. He runs as fast as he can, adrenaline masking his injuries. When he looks back, he can see that no one's bothered to chase after him. Why would they?

 

Blocks away, Gavin slows to a stop, resting in an alleyway and trying to get his breathing under control. The initial adrenaline is fading, and suddenly he feels the pain all over. They have a safehouse nearby, he knows, and can only hope the others go back to the penthouse instead as he limps in the right direction.

 

_ Worthless,  _ he thinks.  _ You can't do anything right. _

 

When he finally makes it, he's exhausted and collapses onto the couch immediately. He lies there for a few minutes, tired and in pain. He feels numb, but at the same time he feels like sobbing, throat tight and breath hitching.

 

Distantly, he knows he should be checking his injuries, because he's been shot and nearly blown up, and is most likely facing a concussion, but he can't bring himself to care.

 

The sound of the door creaking open breaks the silence, and Gavin panics. Had the others decided to come here after all? He moves to get up, hoping to run out the back to avoid them. A familiar face in the doorway stops him, however, and he stands frozen near the couch. “E-Edgar?”

  
“Hiya, Gavin.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Should we go after him?” It’s Jack who speaks first after Gavin runs. “He looked pretty messed up.” _In more ways than one,_ he wants to add.

 

“Let him go,” Geoff says. “He can take care of himself.”

 

Michael scoffs. “Unless he fucks that up too.”

 

Jack frowns but turns his attention to Ryan. “You alright?”

 

Ryan slaps Jack’s hands away. “I’m fine. Let's just go.” He turns and stalks towards where the car is parked. Jack watches him go.

 

Michael's still fuming, muttering curses under his breath. “Fuckin’ moron…” Sirens wail in the distance. “Let's get the fuck outta here.” He follows after Ryan.

 

Geoff brings a hand to his ear, sighing. “Jeremy, pack it up. We’re done here. We’ll pick you up at the rendezvous point.”

 

“Okay,” is all Jeremy says.

 

No one says anything when they drive away from the scene, and neither does Jeremy as he climbs into the backseat with Michael and Ryan minutes later. He looks like he wants to, to ask if they're all okay, if _Gavin_ was okay, but he keeps quiet.

 

He'd seen it all. He'd watched as the building exploded way too close to his friends; he’d watched with bated breath as the smoke cleared and the three of them laid there on the street; he'd watched as Michael had risen slowly and stomped to Gavin, who looked much worse, shaking him and screaming something unknown; he'd watched as Geoff and Jack helped Ryan to his feet, as Michael shoved Gavin, as Gavin fled in a panic.

 

He doesn't know what Michael had said to make Gavin run like that, but he’s afraid to ask. The car is thick with tension. So he sits quietly instead, watching as Los Santos passes by.

* * *

 

Gavin’s silent, shaking with fear and exertion.

 

“It was so nice of you to leave the door unlocked for me,” Edgar says. The rival gang leader gives Gavin a smirk.

 

“What do you want?” Gavin manages. It's a dumb thing to ask, but he doesn't know what else to do.

 

“That was a nasty little scene, wasn't it?” Edgar strolls towards the bookshelf and runs his fingers along the spines. “I just wanted to check up on you.”

 

Gavin wants to laugh at the irony of the statement. Their biggest enemy, pretending to care more about Gavin than his own crew. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised. Instead, he swallows and tracks Edgar’s movements. He's physically and emotionally drained, and knows he won't win any kind of fight. In the back of his mind, he hopes the rest of the crew will actually show up with the same intentions that Gavin had, only to find him with Edgar and save him. His eyes flicker towards the door.

 

Edgar tilts his head. “Wait,” he starts slowly, “you don't actually think they'll come save you, right? Tell me you're joking.” Gavin remains silent, and Edgar gives an exaggerated look of surprise. “Wow. After all that, you really think they'd come save your worthless ass?”

 

Gavin knows Edgar is right. Even if by some chance they did show up, they'd probably just let Edgar do what he wanted with him anyways. After all, he'd left the door unlocked and practically let him in. _Stupid._ He almost wishes Edgar would just shoot him and get it over with.

 

Instead, the man stalks forward. Gavin instinctively takes a step back, and Edgar grins at his blatant display of fear. Gavin backs up until he hits the wall, and Edgar follows.

 

“It’s funny,” Edgar comments, now leaning into Gavin’s personal space, “that without them, you're _nothing._ But without you? Imagine how much better off they'll be!” Edgar laughs. “I mean, you heard Michael. You fuck everything up!” Gavin looks pained at the words. “Oh, sorry. Too soon?”

 

Edgar finally pulls away from Gavin, and the shorter man feels some of his tension bleed away. “Well, you obviously can't go back after all that. So why don't you come with me?” It’s not really a question.

 

Gavin looks to the door.

 

“Really?” Edgar says, placing his hands on his hips. “C’mon, Gav. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. And by the looks of things, I think we both know which you should pick.”

 

Gav remains pressed against the wall, heart jackhammering in his chest. He knows he’ll never make it to the door, but he’s not going to just _give up_. Edgar sighs, then whistles. Two burly men wedge themselves through the doorway.

 

“Last chance,” Edgar says nonchalantly. The two men grin dangerously at Gavin.

 

He doesn't go down without a fight. It hurts like hell, but Gavin does all he can to avoid capture. The room is a mess when they finally subdue him, slamming him to the ground and holding him there as he whimpers in pain.

 

Things are a blur as his wrists are tied tightly behind him and he’s dragged outside and into the back of a van. They blindfold him, and then the doors slam. Gavin lurches and nearly falls over as the van begins moving. “Plug up that bullet wound,” he hears Edgar snap. “We don’t need him dying on us yet.”

 

Gavin flinches when he feels someone lift up the side of his shirt and lets out a hiss as they put pressure on his wound. Something warm and wet drips down from his hairline, staining the blindfold. Blood from when his head had slammed into the ground during the explosion, most likely.

  
He feels himself drifting off and tries to fight against it, but it doesn’t take long for the exhaustion and pain to win, and he finally passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Gavvy :(


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! This chapter gave me a bit of trouble, even if it came out like half as long as it was supposed to be (so sorry it's so short too). I want to try getting into a schedule, so I'm gonna try updating on Thursdays and Sundays; hopefully it works out!

They leave him alone at first, and Gavin thinks it might be worse than whatever torture they could be putting him through instead.

 

He’s locked in a small, concrete room in a basement somewhere. It's quiet - silent, really - and Gavin sits curled up in a corner because he's not  _ truly _ alone - he still has himself, which is worse company than Edgar.

 

He’s so  _ stupid.  _ He’d messed up ( _ again _ ), and this time it had nearly cost them their lives. And to top it all off, he’d been nabbed by their biggest rival, of all people. They'd hate him now for sure.

 

Edgar must know what a useless bargaining chip he is - he’d said it himself. The rest of the Fakes wouldn't care enough to come save him. Hell, they'd probably be happy to find him gone and out of their way. They'd go on with their lives, pull off some  _ successful _ heists, and never think of him again.

 

He’s had it coming for a while now, he supposes. All of their failed heists are a result of one of his slip-ups. He nearly dies on a regular basis (and that’s  _ fine,  _ really, because it’s only  _ Gavin.  _ He’s expendable; the crew could easily find another hacker, someone who  _ wouldn't  _ botch all their heists.) but now he’s put his teammates in danger. He’s gone too far this time.

 

_ Maybe it's better this way, _ he thinks as he closes his eyes and tries to ignore the pain coursing through him.

 

They’re better off without him.

* * *

 

With the failed heist and near-death experience hanging over their heads, the mood in the penthouse drops dramatically.

 

Jack had checked Michael and Ryan over as soon as they'd returned; both had been relatively unharmed aside from a few scrapes and scratches. 

 

Ryan hasn’t said much (but then again, he never really does) but Michael’s still livid. For the most part, Jeremy avoids him, afraid that Michael will lash out at him next. No one mentions Gavin.

 

It’s a huge relief when Michael finally starts joking with them again two days later, the last of his anger dissipating.

 

Jeremy decides that it’s finally time to bring up what they’ve all been avoiding.

 

“It’s been two days and we haven't heard anything from him. We need to find him,” he demands while they're all in the living room playing a video game. Someone pauses the game and Michael stares hard at Jeremy, and Jeremy’s a little afraid that Michael will get angry again. Everyone's quiet.

 

“Jeremy's right,” Jack says after a moment, and all eyes turn to him. Jeremy sends him a small smile, a  _ thank-you-for-siding-with-me  _ smile, and Jack nods in return.

 

“Okay,” Geoff agrees. “I was starting to miss the little fucker anyway.” In truth, they all were; it had just been a matter of who would admit it first. “I’ll try calling him.” They all watch as Geoff pulls his phone out and taps the screen twice before raising it to his ear, knee bouncing. He frowns almost immediately. “Went straight to voicemail,” he informs as he pockets the device again.

 

“We have a safehouse near where-” Jack cuts himself off, glancing at Michael, who doesn't look as angry as Jeremy thought he’d be. “Maybe he went there?”

 

“It’s worth a shot.” Geoff stands from the couch and stretches lazily, joints popping.

 

A few minutes later, they're heading down to the garage. Jeremy’s not in the mood to drive, so he climbs into Jack’s car. The man doesn't question it. Geoff must have the same idea, because he gets in with Ryan. Michael takes his own car.

 

Jack turns the radio on as they pull out into Los Santos traffic, quiet music filling the silence between the two.

 

Finally, Jeremy speaks, “What did Michael say?”

 

“What?”

 

“Michael,” he repeats, “what did he say to Gavin the other day?”

 

Jack frowns. “He just- he was angry. I don't think he really meant it,” he starts, then sighs. “He told Gav that he fucks everything up for us. Gavin… he looked so  _ panicked.  _ I’ve never seen him like that. Usually he takes that kind of shit on the chin, y’know?”

 

Jeremy knew. Gavin wasn't easily shaken, especially by one of them. “We should've gone after him sooner.” There was an unspoken,  _ I’m worried. _

 

“Yeah.”  _ Me, too. _

  
The music continues to play softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know how I feel about this chapter. I feel like it's too short and it's missing something tbh.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said I wanted to get on schedule and everything, but I think I'm gonna aim for updates every Sunday, not Thursdays too. I just wanted to get this out there because I finished it last night but was too tired to look it over and post it. (So the next chapter will be up next Sunday, the 25th - Merry Christmas!) But this chapter's longer to make up for the short ones I've been writing.

Jack and Jeremy reach the safehouse first. As they pull up, Jeremy can't shake this horrible feeling that something’s  _ wrong. _ He waits for Jack to park and turn off the car, fingers tapping anxiously on his thigh.

 

(He knows he has no reason to worry; Gavin can take care of himself. The thought doesn't help.)

 

Ryan pulls up beside them a moment later, turning the engine off and climbing out.

 

“Where’s Michael?” Jack asks as he shuts his car door.

 

“Um, I dunno,” Ryan answers, “He was right behind-”

 

He’s cut off as Michael’s car suddenly whips in next to them. “Fuckin’ traffic,” he complains through the open window.

 

Geoff leads them to the door, shooting them a startled look when he realizes that it’s already cracked open. Guns are drawn, and Jeremy’s anxiety increases tenfold as Geoff pushes his way inside, painfully slow.

 

The place is a mess.

 

“Jesus fuck…” Geoff breathes out. There’s dried blood  _ everywhere, _ and everything is out of place - the couch is crooked, as if someone had slammed heavily into one end; a lamp lays in pieces on the floor, ceramic shards mixed in with various trinkets and items that had also fallen during whatever had taken place.

 

“Holy shit,” Michael says, “what the fuck happened in here?”

 

Geoff takes a step further into the room. “Gavin?” he calls loudly, the sound echoing in the silence of the house. There’s no response. “Michael, Jeremy, go check it out.”

 

Jeremy gives a quick nod before hurrying after Michael, pistol raised but heart plummeting.

 

Geoff watches as Ryan crouches to inspect the blood. It’s Gavin’s, it has to be. (He feels sick that he hadn’t realized how much the lad was bleeding. How had he just let him go off on his own like that?) There’s a trail leading from the door to the couch, which is stained, like Gavin had sat there bleeding for a while. It trails from the couch to the wall, red smeared starkly against white-  _ odd,  _ Geoff thinks; it seems to have Ryan confused as well. There’s a few smears on the floor, leading back towards the door. Geoff gulps.

 

The floorboards creak, alerting the gents to Jeremy and Michael’s return. “There’s no body, so that’s… good,” Jeremy says, though the word feels  _ wrong.  _ “What the fuck is goin’ on, Geoff?”

 

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” he replies. Ryan stands. “What’ve you got?”

 

Ryan points to the floor. “Look,” he says. Bloody footprints surround them. “There were four people in here.”

 

Michael’s face scrunches. “Four?”

 

“Including Gavin.” Ryan points to a pair. “Only he would wear shoes with a Union Jack on the bottom.”

 

They sit in silence for a moment, observing the scene. “Someone must've followed him in,” Jack concludes, “got the drop on him.”

 

“Fuck,” is all Geoff says. It's not the first time one of them has been kidnapped, not the first time  _ Gavin _ has been kidnapped (and they all knew that in this line of work, it wouldn't be the last) but it never really gets easier to handle.

 

There’s just so much  _ blood.  _ How had he not bled out?

 

“It was probably just some low level, piece of shit gang that got  _ lucky,”  _ Michael spits angrily. (They can hear the underlying worry in his tone, try as he might to hide it.) “They'll call us and make their stupid demands and we’ll have him back in no time.”

 

“Look around for any clues,” Geoff orders. “Anything that might tell us who the fuck was in here.”

 

They disband and begin hunting. The smell of dried blood is beginning to get a little overwhelming, so Jeremy takes it upon himself to further inspect the rest of the house. He and Michael had only done a quick once-over, looking for anything obviously out of place. Jeremy takes his time now, carefully looking at every detail. He finds nothing out if the ordinary.

 

He looks again.

 

It's the first time one of them has been taken since Jeremy’s joined the crew. The others are probably used to it, he’s sure - it’s kind of hard to avoid this sort of thing when you're the most powerful gang in Los Santos and you’ve got a target on your head at all times. He knows Gavin’s tough - he’s like a cockroach, the little fucker could survive anything thrown at him - but he can't help but worry that this would be the time that Gavin didn't bounce back.

 

Jeremy’s in the kitchen when footsteps startle him from his thoughts. He doesn't realize how hard he’d been gripping the counter until he lets go and his fingers ache, and he wonders just how long he’s been gone.

 

He knows it’s Jack before he turns around.

 

“Find anything?” the larger man asks, and Jeremy is thankful he’d ignored the fact that Jeremy looks anxious and lost. (He knows Jack knows, because Jack  _ always _ knows, and he’d probably bring it up later.)

 

Jeremy shakes his head. “Literally nothing else has even been touched. I don't think anyone left that room.” The lack of footprints leading from the room had tipped him off, but he’d wanted to be sure.

 

Jack hums in affirmation, moving towards the small closet that resides in the kitchen to dig around for some cleaning supplies. Jeremy watches him, leaning against the counter.

 

“We didn't find anything either,” Jack says as he produces a few mops and buckets from the closet. Jeremy takes the mops and Jack shuts the door. “Just those footprints, but they're not much help. Ryan took pictures just in case,” he adds, and Jeremy follows him down the hall to the bathroom. He stands in the doorway, clutching the mops, as Jack drops one of the buckets into the tub and turns on the faucet.

 

“He’ll be okay, Jeremy.” It's so soft that it's almost lost with the sound of water pouring into the bucket, but Jeremy hears it. Jack’s smiling reassuringly at him, and Jeremy can't help but smile back, because somehow Jack always knows exactly what to say and it still amazes him. “I know it looks bad, but he’ll be okay.”

 

Jeremy nods.

 

The bucket fills and Jack lugs it out of the tub, a little of the water splashing out onto the tiled floor, and replaces it with the second bucket. Once that one’s full as well, Jack turns the water off and the two of them carry the buckets back to the living room, where Ryan's still poking around and Michael’s watching him, arms crossed. Geoff’s sitting on the end of the couch that's  _ not  _ covered in blood, knee bouncing.

 

They mop up the blood quietly, solemnly, and Jeremy is the designated water runner for when one of the buckets gets too dirty, and each time he watches it swirl down the drain it’s lighter and pinker.

 

“Gonna need a new couch,” Jack says from where he’d been crouched near it, attempting to scrub out the blood stain. By now, they're all experts at getting out blood out of things, but it’s had two days to set in and dry. No matter how hard Jack tries, a large area of the couch remains pink instead of white. Some things just aren't salvageable.

 

“Aw, man,” Geoff sighs, propping his mop up and leaning on it, “I liked that couch.”

 

“Geoff, we’ve used this safehouse, like, two times,” Michael points out, picking up a rather large chunk of what used to be a lamp. It makes a dull clinking sound as he drops it in a garbage bag with the rest of the shards.

 

“Doesn't mean I can't like it…” Geoff mumbles, but continues to mop up the last of the blood.

 

The room is finally clean (despite the couch) and if Jeremy didn't know any better, it looked as if nothing had happened.

  
He wishes that it could be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so like... I realized some inconsistancies after I wrote the whole chapter. In the other chapter I kind of forgot to have Gavin dealing with blood loss so... oops? There was probably a lot less blood than I made it out to be.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone! I want to say thank you to everyone who's been leaving comments - each and every comment makes my day, so thank you so much!!!

Gavin’s not sure how long he’s been locked up. It must’ve been at least a day, he figures - maybe two, it’s hard to tell; the room lacks any windows.

 

In however long it’s been, the room seems like it’s gotten impossibly smaller, and he feels claustrophobic, like the walls are closing in on his curled up form. Sometime after being thrown in, he’d noticed the security camera pointed towards him and moved to sit underneath it, where it was harder for it to see him, clinging to the false sense of privacy it provided.

 

Gavin’s sure he’s never been this hungry or thirsty in his entire life, stomach aching and grumbling loudly in the silence of the room, throat parched. (Well - when he’d been a teenager, fresh from England, roaming the streets of Los Santos with nothing but the clothes on his back and armed with only his sloppy pickpocketing skills, he’d had plenty of hungry days and nights. Then Geoff had swooped in and saved his ass, and he hadn't had to worry about being hungry since.)

 

He’s anxious as all hell. He doesn't know what’s in store for him - torture, probably - and being left alone for so long has left him on edge, twitching at even the slightest of sounds. Gavin hasn't slept much either, worried about what could happen if he lets his guard slip for even a second. (There’s not much he can do anyways, but it helps him feel a little better.)

 

The pain in his side has reduced to a dull ache, flaring up if he shifts too much. It’d been patched up just enough to stop the bleeding, the gauze still sticky and warm. In the beginning, he’d been tempted to remove it and just let himself bleed out, end everything before it truly began, but something (a small voice in the back of his mind, still hoping for some way out of this) had stopped him.

 

The metal door opens suddenly, bottom scraping loudly on the concrete underneath it. Edgar strolls in leisurely, grinning at the sight of Gavin curled up in his corner. He produces a water bottle from behind his back and holds it out. “Want some water? People can only survive a couple of days without it, y’know.”

 

Gavin eyes him suspiciously, making no move to approach.

 

“Oh, come on,” Edgar says, taking a step forward. “You really think I’d poison you or something? After all this?” Gavin doesn't answer. “Jesus Christ, kid, it’s still sealed. Here, look for yourself.” He tosses the bottle and Gavin fumbles to catch it before it hits him.

 

True to his word, the bottle is unopened. He knows he shouldn't trust Edgar this easily, but he’s  _ so thirsty. _ Gavin sends him one last wary glance before twisting the top and bringing the bottle to his lips. Some of the water spills as he chugs it, but he doesn't care. He’s out of breath when he finishes the bottle, plastic crinkling in his hand.

 

Edgar laughs, and Gavin knows he’s made a mistake, giving in to him so quickly.

 

“Well, Gavin,” he says, clapping his hands together, “I did something for you. It’d be rude not to return the favor.”

 

Gavin tenses at that, watching nervously as Edgar whistles and the same two men who’d manhandled him before enter the room. (It’s unnecessary, he thinks. What could he possibly do?)

 

Everything happens so fast - he’s hauled up and dragged from the room, stumbling and grunting in pain, to another room in the basement, where he’s shoved into a chair and tied down. Edgar picks up a knife, and it glints dully in the light coming from the single bulb above them.

 

“Despite what everything thinks, I know you're not  _ stupid _ , Gavin,” he says, running his finger along the blade. “You know what I want.”

 

“‘m not gonna talk,” Gavin tells him, voice weak from disuse and thirst.

 

“Don't be like that.” Edgar leans over him intimidatingly, bringing the knife up to Gavin’s face. “Just tell me what I want to know.”

 

Gavin snorts. Did Edgar really expect him to spill all of the crew’s secrets? Was he that much of an idiot?

 

Gavin hisses as Edgar presses the knife to his cheek, making a thin slice. “Come on, Gavin.”

 

Gavin laughs, voice cracking. “You think a little knife is gonna get me to talk?”

 

“Not really. I'm just warming up, kid.” Edgar smirks.

 

By the end of it, Gavin’s lost his shirt and is littered with cuts, face, arms and chest alike. Neither of them had said a word throughout the ordeal, Gavin only wincing at the sting of the knife while Edgar watched with sick fascination.

 

“Why don't you just kill me?” Gavin asks. “That's what you want, right? To kill me?”

 

“Kid,” Edgar says slowly, looking Gavin in the eye, “if I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have even made it to that safehouse.”

* * *

 

They have no leads.

 

On the way back to the penthouse, Jeremy learns that Ryan and Jack had checked for security footage, but of course,  _ of course,  _ traffic cams on all relevant streets had been down for maintenance the day that Gavin had been taken. Their own security cameras, however, had been hacked into and the footage deleted.

 

Jeremy feels helpless - they all do. Geoff puts a word out to Rooster Teeth as well as FakeHaus, and both crews promise to notify them if anything comes up.

  
Other than that, they can do nothing but wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really like this chaper but whatever. I'm still trying to get the hang of torture scenes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Firstly, I just want to apologize for not updating last weekend. I hope this chapter makes up for it! Secondly, I have a [tumblr](https://fragmentsandpieces.tumblr.com) now! I'm still getting it all set up, but I'm going to use it for updates and such in the future (like to let you know if I won't be posting or something). Feel free to message me on there too!

Gavin takes in a shuddering breath, then leans forward and spits blood onto Edgar’s shoes.

 

“You little  _ shit,”  _ Edgar snarls as he raises his fist again. The gold of his brass knuckles peeks through the blood dripping from them. Gavin grunts as he’s punched again. “Just tell me about the Fakes-”

 

“Fuck off,” Gavin groans, rolling his neck and wincing at the loud crack it makes.

 

“Come on, it’s not like you're part of their crew anymore. You don't mean shit to them.” The words hurt as much as Edgar’s beating had, but Gavin knows they’re true. “We both know that if I had one of  _ them  _ here instead, they wouldn't hesitate to tell me  _ everything  _ about  _ you. _ ” Also true.

 

Edgar sighs. “Don’t you see how much they hate you? Now’s your chance to get back at them.”

 

Gavin scoffs. He wouldn't turn on them.  _ Ever. _ It didn't matter what they did to him, he could  _ never _ betray them. They could try and kill him themselves and he’d still be as loyal as ever. They were his friends, his  _ family _ \- at least, they had been once, he thinks. He misses them (even if they don't miss him).

 

A wicked grin appears on Edgar’s face, one that makes Gavin feel uneasy. “Well,” he says, “why don't we just see what exactly they have to say about you, then? Maybe that'll change your mind.”

 

Gavin only has a moment to be confused before a cloth is forcefully stuffed into his mouth, effectively gagging him. He glares at Edgar, but his eyes widen when the man pulls a phone out of his back pocket -  _ his  _ phone. He’d assumed it had broken in the explosion, and it had, really - the screen has long, jagged cracks running through it, and one of the corners is flat. He’d be surprised if it even turns on.

 

But it does, and Gavin watches with growing anxiety as Edgar holds the phone close to his face, squinting to see through the cracks as he scrolls through Gavin’s contact list.

* * *

 

The ringing of his cell phone breaks the silence of the living room. The others look up from their own devices as he jumps from the couch and scrambles for the phone, hoping it might be someone with information regarding Gavin.

 

He doesn’t expect that  _ Gavin _ would be the one calling.

 

“Holy shit,” Geoff breathes.

 

“What?” Jack asks, but Geoff’s already picked up the phone.

 

“Gavin?! Holy shit,  _ holy shit,  _ Gavin!”

 

If the rest of the crew wasn't paying attention, they were now. They crowd around Geoff, a chorus of “It’s Gav?” and “Is he okay?” and “Put it on speaker, Geoff!”

 

_ “Guess again,”  _ a voice that is definitely  _ not  _ Gavin says over the phone.

 

“What the fuck? Who is this?” Geoff demands, confused and angry. The others fall silent, sharing worried glances with each other.

 

_ “You don't recognize my voice? I'm hurt, Ramsey. And here I was thinking we were friends, with everything we have in common.” _

 

Geoff is silent for a moment, trying to place the deep voice. “Jesus Ch-  _ Edgar?” _

 

The guys look startled at the name. Ryan pales. (He, after all, had the most connections to the man. Ryan had been with Edgar before joining the Fake AH Crew. They had never truly discovered what went on in Edgar’s crew, but the few things Ryan  _ did  _ tell them would've had them on the run as well. Edgar apparently didn't appreciate the loss of his right-hand man, especially to another crew, and had had it out for them ever since.)

 

_ “It’s been too long, Geoff. How’ve you been?”  _ He says it casually, like they’re old friends getting a chance to catch up.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Geoff hisses into the phone. “Where’s Gavin?”

 

_ “I have Gavin here with me, if you were wondering,”  _ Edgar says, and Geoff’s face scrunches up with confusion at his odd wording. He’d just asked, hadn't he? Of course he was wondering.  _ “Though I'm sure you weren't. Y’know, after everything that happened…” _

 

What the fuck?

 

“What?” is all Geoff says. He feels lost.

 

_ “Looks like we were right, Gav!”  _ Edgar’s voice is a bit quieter, like he’s holding the phone away from his mouth.  _ “They don't care!” _

 

_...oh. _

 

“You  _ fucker,”  _ Geoff spits, sudden realization hitting him. Edgar was lying to Gavin. “You motherfucker!” Edgar’s laughing over the phone. “When we fuckin’ find you-”

 

_ “Geoff says they're not coming.” _

 

“Of course we’re coming!” Geoff’s shouting now, the rest of the crew looking on with wide eyes and a range of emotions. “Gavin won't fall for that shit, he knows we’re coming for him.”

 

Edgar laughs again.  _ “Well,” _ he says,  _ “I’ll let you go then. You must be busy trying to find a replacement.” _

 

“We’d never replace him, you-”

 

The line goes dead.

 

Geoff’s breathing heavily, staring down at the phone clutched tightly in his hand. The screen flashes  _ Call Ended _ mockingly at him.

 

“...Geoff?”

 

He heaves out a sigh, trying to calm himself even the slightest bit. “Edgar has Gavin,” he says simply.

 

They all sit in silence, letting the information truly sink in. It hadn't been hard to work it out, listening to Geoff’s conversation.

 

Ryan gets up suddenly, and leaves the room without a word. As he passes, Jeremy gets a glimpse of his face. He looks  _ afraid.  _ (If _ Ryan’s  _ afraid, things must be worse than he’d thought. Of course he knew of Edgar - anyone in Los Santos would have to be living under a rock to not know that name - but with Ryan it seems… personal. Jeremy makes a mental note to ask someone about it later.)

 

They stare after him for a moment, then Jack turns to Geoff and asks, “What did he say?”

 

“I think he…” Geoff runs a hand through his hair. “He was trying to convince Gavin that we don't care about him anymore or some shit.”

 

Jeremy looks around at them nervously. “That won't work, will it?”

 

“No,” Michael says, “Gav’s smarter than that.”

 

“Then let’s track this motherfucker down,” Geoff says, determined to get the lad back as soon as possible (especially now that he knows it’s  _ Edgar _ who has him).

 

Minutes later, Jack finds Ryan on the balcony. A cigarette is held loosely between his fingers, smoke curling up to join the smog of Los Santos. It’s a habit of his to smoke when he’s worried or stressed, more so than usual - a habit Jack’s been trying to break for years.

 

“Those’ll kill you, you know,” Jack says, leaning against the railing beside Ryan.

 

Ryan snorts bitterly. “I’ll be lucky if I manage to die from smoking in this line of work.” It’s a morbid joke (but then, so is everything about Ryan, from that damn skull mask to his ever rising body count), though Jack can't deny that it’s true.

 

“Geoff says that Edgar’s trying to manipulate Gavin.”

 

“That’s what he does best,” Ryan murmurs. From the corner of his eye, he can see the questioning look Jack is giving him. “How do you think I ended up working with him?”

 

Jack doesn't comment. Instead, they look over Los Santos in silence. The setting sun reflects brilliantly off the windows of skyscrapers, and lights from cars twinkle far below them.

 

“He’ll be okay,” Jack says after a while.

 

“You don't  _ know _ Edgar, Jack, he-”

 

“But I know  _ Gavin.  _ And I know that he’s strong enough to handle whatever Edgar throws at him.”

  
Ryan takes a long drag from his cigarette. “I hope you're right,” he mutters. The words entwine with smoke, swirling in the wind, and are carried off into the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! And once again, thank you for all of your lovely comments, I love reading each and every one of them!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting this late! It's really short, so I apologize for that too. The next chapter will definitely be longer!
> 
> I also wanted to remind everyone to follow my [tumblr,](https://fragmentsandpieces.tumblr.com) where I post any news about the story.

Gavin stares down at the floor, at the cracks in the concrete, at the dark specks of his blood.

 

“Oh, come on, don't act so surprised,” Edgar chastises, turning Gavin’s phone off and putting it back into his pocket. “We  _ both _ knew how that was gonna turn out…”

 

It’s true - Gavin hadn't been expecting anything less (but that doesn't change the fact that it hurts like hell).

 

“I’ll leave you alone for a bit. Try not to think too hard about what Ramsey said, hm?” he says, and Gavin’s already sick of his constant mocking tone and the smile that accompanies it.

 

The door closes, and Gavin is left alone in silence. Edgar’s words echo in his head.

 

_ Geoff says they're not coming. _

 

It wasn't like he didn't already know they weren't coming for him. It’d been fairly obvious.

 

Even still, he can't help the feeling of betrayal that bubbles up inside.

* * *

 

“Find anything?”

 

“No,” Jeremy replies with a heavy sigh, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. They're sore from staring at the too-bright computer screen for so long. He doesn't know how Gavin does it. “Edgar must be jamming the signal somehow.”

 

“I figured,” Geoff says as he makes his way into the room and sets a plate down in front of Jeremy. “No way he’d be stupid enough to  _ not _ jam the signal.” He runs a hand over his face, frustrated.

 

“Sorry, boss-”

 

“Don't,” Geoff interrupts, giving Jeremy a stern look. “Don't apologize. You did your best. Now eat, you've been in here for hours.” He motions to the plate of food.

 

Jeremy’s stomach growls loudly as he grabs the sandwich; he hadn't realized how hungry he’d been. Geoff perches on the corner of the desk.

 

“Geoff,” Jeremy starts, pausing to swallow his food, “can I ask you something?”

 

“What's up, buddy?”

 

“When you said that Edgar had Gavin, Ryan…” He struggles to find the right words. “Ryan looked pretty shaken up. He never even looks _remotely_ shaken up. Am I, like, missing something?”

 

Geoff sighs, adjusting his position. “Yeah, it was before Ray left and you showed up. You know Ryan was the last to join the original six, right?” Jeremy nods. “Well, before he joined, he worked with Edgar.”

 

“Really?” Jeremy’s eyes are wide.

 

“Yeah. He was like his right-hand man, too.”

 

Jeremy takes another bite of his sandwich. “I’m guessing shit went down?”

 

“Well, you know Edgar - he’s fucking terrifying.” Geoff shudders. “Ryan wasn't there by choice. We gave him a way out and he took it - after some of the shit he’s told us, anyone would - and Edgar wasn't too thrilled about that.”

 

It had taken Ryan a long time to warm up to them, to get out of the mentality of Edgar’s crew. He’d never truly opened up to them about the inner workings of the crew, only told them bits and pieces, or things that he deemed helpful. He got visibly upset if anyone brought it up, so it became sort of a banned subject in the penthouse (which was difficult when the man in question was their biggest rival and always on the news trying to one-up them, or tracking them down for another murder attempt).

 

Jeremy’s finished his sandwich by the time Geoff’s done with his story. “Jesus Christ,” he says, and the worry is gnawing away at him again.

 

“Yeah,” Geoff agrees with a huff. He pushes himself off the desk, grabbing Jeremy’s empty plate. “We’re in for one hell of a fight,” he says, lingering in the doorway, “so I hope you're ready.”

 

Once the last of Geoff’s footsteps fade away, Jeremy collapses back into the chair and stares hard at the ceiling. He hates this, hates not knowing what will happen, not knowing when (or  _ if _ , he thinks with a shiver) he’ll see Gavin again. He hates feeling so  _ helpless. _

 

When Jeremy finally gets up a few minutes later, he casts one last glance at the computer screen, like there might be something,  _ anything _ new that could lead him to Gavin.

  
(There's not, of course, and maybe he pushes his chair in a bit too forcefully because of it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Prayer circle to pray that I actually finish this fic.


End file.
